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It’s Not All Bad (It’s Not All Great Either)

With going to work the other day, that also meant going to my mother-in-law’s house. I wasn’t there for more than a few minutes, but they were rough ’cause people. And rougher ’cause people who care and want to pass on love, and my brain can’t take it very well from most people right now (folks who also have mental health disorders aren’t triggering, ’cause they know the deal).

Because I do care about my family out here, I made sure my husband had assured his mother that I wasn’t mad at her or anything. She’s known me long enough now to know when I’m especially bad; she likens it to a blown fuse, which is totally apt. But that doesn’t meant that days where I feel the Crazy Rising don’t make me tie myself in knots trying to make sure I don’t inflict it on anyone else, or the resentment of trying to bottle it, or… well. All the fun that comes from being in that rather knife-edge state of mind.

He reported, of course, that she understood. Understanding is good, especially if it’s not in my direct space. He also assured her that I’m doing fairly well at home, which I am. I’m playing with our child and we have lots of good laughs. I’m engaging in things I find enjoyable. I’m back up enough from last week to be smiling and mainly cheerful, as long as I’m in my comfort zone. I might not be doing much with myself, but that’s okay — a part of self-care is making sure I don’t take on too much. I don’t want to give the anxiety anything to cling onto again, after all.

Mind, it’s not all great either. I’m not eating much because I’m not particularly hungry, and were I, the energy food-making requires is beyond me. I’m still having to avoid most of the world at large online as well as offline. Personal grooming is well… the idea of sitting or standing in water dizzies my head to a degree that it puts the concept right out the window. I’ll probably manage to talk myself into it… but I don’t think that will happen today.

Anyways, I’m still managing to smile and mean it… not that I’d smile if I didn’t mean it, ’cause it triggers some bad nose-diving depression stuff to out and out fake it for me. My brain has stepped back enough to allow me some joy. So I guess I can be grateful for that, and hope that it’ll keep getting better sooner rather than later.